


Tactile

by Palebluedot



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, London, M/M, oh how i love that tag, this is just like ~500 words of kisses and softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: When Thomas opens his eyes, they stare and stare and seem to shine. “I wondered often how this might look,” he murmurs, pushing an errant lock behind James's ear, fingers tracing over the shell. He looks down at James, adoration writ plain across his face, warm as the candlelight, and this is all still so strange to James, so new.~+~+~+~Inspired bybean-about-townn'spost: "Imagine the first time Thomas sees James’ hair out of its ribbon" and a related conversation withblanketed_in_stars.





	Tactile

Fingertips skimming delicate along James's jaw, his stuttering pulse, the tip of Thomas's nose nudging against his cheek – each point of contact clamors for James's attention as much as the sweet and constant softness of Thomas's lips on his own. Gradually, Thomas's touch migrates to James's temples, his hair, a quiet caress James leans into without a thought. But his hands only linger there for a breath or two, then there's an insistent whisper of a tug at the ribbon that binds James's hair. The knot opens, and his tresses fall loose. Before James has time to be puzzled, Thomas kisses the corner of his mouth once, again, then draws back.

When Thomas opens his eyes, they stare and stare and seem to shine. “I wondered often how this might look,” he murmurs, pushing an errant lock behind James's ear, fingers tracing over the shell. He looks down at James, adoration writ plain across his face, warm as the candlelight, and this is all still so strange to James, so new. His heart has all the baby-softness of a fresh-healed wound, one light touch or fond gaze sends it reeling, and Thomas is ceaseless in his affections, James never has a moment's peace...but he does not want one. Not when he could thrill beneath Thomas's every smile – there seem to be so very many of them, these days.

“Did you?” he asks. It comes out more timid than he intends. He's too on-guard, far too vulnerable. The seal's only just broken on this letter of theirs, reading each new line takes courage – one never knows when news might turn sour. And to think of Thomas _thinking_ of him, imagining and longing and daring to hope, it seems a fantasy, the sort of dream James so often imagined and longed after and dared to hope for himself. He swallows. “There you have it, then,” he breathes, and could wince for his ineloquence.

But Thomas's smile is not patient and weary, or a wooden you're-too-kind. It's _shy._ Shy and sure, and when his fingers slide through James's hair, gentle and curious, James detects the subtlest tremor. Time and time again, he's seen those hands stay steady through long nights of debate and bureaucratic minutiae, their following exhausted dawns, and he saw them stay steady during a confrontation that seemed to shake the very china and crystal, that even stirred the villain across the table to movement. To feel them tremble now, from nothing more than their closeness – the unreality of it all proves it _real_ for James. He could not have imagined such a thing long enough to even wish for it. There is much, he supposes, they have yet to learn about one another.

Where to start seems obvious once Thomas meets his eye, glows at him through the dark. Though his limbs have turned to liquid gold, James cups the back of Thomas's neck and pulls him across that unbearable gap and kisses him, hesitant at first, but never uncertain. Thomas melts into him on a sigh, lips pressing tender and unhurried, those hands threading ever deeper through James's hair, coaxing him closer. James can do nothing but oblige. Behind him, the ribbon slips from Thomas's fingers, flutters to the floor and makes not a sound, one wind-fallen petal in a bursting, tremulous spring.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to [tumblr.](https://brightbluedot.tumblr.com/post/160823138454/tactile/) Come discuss James McGraw in love and/or wearing his hair down!
> 
> Comments are love!


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